


in a silence divine

by gauras



Series: if i had the chance, we'd never have to part [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Intimacy, just two gals mackin on each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 20:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18611791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gauras/pseuds/gauras
Summary: She has to pause in the doorway, though, and force herself to breathe around thesomethingthat lodges itself in her throat at the sight of Monroe curled up in the corner of their squashy couch, unbound hair catching and reflecting the light from the fire slowly dying behind its grate. Reds and yellows highlight the strands of her pale hair, turning them to a crown of spun gold and glittering rubies. There’s a heavy book held in her hand, a bit of blood splatter and char gracing its edges, no doubt a memento from its previous owner. Monroe turns a page, idly stroking a finger along the corner of the cover, seemingly unperturbed by the keening cry of the door.





	in a silence divine

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday to all the other lesbians out there
> 
> title from [in your bed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UnHQ79NxFSs) by bat for lashes

A horrendous, grating shriek pierces the evening quiet as Adelaide eases the door open with a wince. It’s been doing that for weeks, voicing every complaint it has, especially after the late-spring snow storm that hit last week. She’s been meaning to fix it, even has a little can of oil waiting patiently on the table by the door, but it slips her mind during the day, only for her to remember when it’s early in the morning or late like it is now, fingers stiff and clumsy with cold. She knocks the snow from her feet and pries her boots off in the doorway, tossing them into a corner when she’s done. Gods, it’s cold out.

Giving her nose a brisk rub, Adelaide lets out a yawn and forces the door closed. It screams, giving its best imitation of the pathetic wailing of a wounded animal. “Oh, hush,” Adelaide tells it with a sharp rap from her knuckles. It shuts with a dull thump and click, the chill hanging in the air slowly dissipating as Adelaide shivers. Firelight flickers from around the corner of the kitchen, the low crackle of flames just barely audible in the dark. Adelaide curls her toes in her thick socks and makes for the living room.

She has to pause in the doorway, though, and force herself to breathe around the  _ something _ that lodges itself in her throat at the sight of Monroe curled up in the corner of their squashy couch, unbound hair catching and reflecting the light from the fire slowly dying behind its grate. Reds and yellows highlight the strands of her pale hair, turning them to a crown of spun gold and glittering rubies. There’s a heavy book held in her hand, a bit of blood splatter and char gracing its edges, no doubt a memento from its previous owner. Monroe turns a page, idly stroking a finger along the corner of the cover, seemingly unperturbed by the keening cry of the door. 

Unable to smother her smile, Adelaide steps into the room and flops down next to Monroe, prodding at her leg until she unwinds with a huff, just enough for Adelaide to pillow her head on a thigh. She wriggles around a bit to get comfortable, ending up on her side, head tilted to stare up at the unflattering angle of Monroe’s chin. Thin scars wind their way down her jaw and throat, twisting like the tendrils of a tender plant, broken by short, jagged slashes. Monroe turns another page.

“What are you reading?” Adelaide asks after several long moments of quiet.

“A journal,” Monroe says. Adelaide eyes the book. It’s absurdly thick, and she cranes her head to see the cover. Bound in leather dyed a dark blue and adorned with artful geometric patterns etched in silver in the corners, the book looks more like a spell tome than a journal.

“Really.”

“Mhmm.” An absent minded hand winds its way into Adelaide’s hair, guiding her head back down to rest on Monroe’s thigh. Adelaide goes willingly, sighing at the feeling of Monroe’s short nails scratching along her scalp, the pads of her fingers cool on her skin. “The author had a very… discerning taste.”

“And a terribly interesting life?” One of Monroe’s fingers trails along the tip of Adelaide’s ear, goosebumps rising along the back of her neck. She presses the point between thumb and forefinger, giving it a gentle tug. Adelaide’s eyes slide shut and she goes boneless against Monroe.

“Not really.” She releases the tip of Adelaide’s ear in favor of fiddling with one of the hooped earrings pierced through her cartilage, flipping it back and forth against the shell. “Thoroughly convinced of their own importance, though.”

“Is that so?” Her voice sounds husky to her own ears and she’d be embarrassed at her reaction if it were anyone other than Monroe. As it is, Adelaide presses her face more firmly against Monroe’s leg, rubbing her cheek against the soft material of her leggings.

“Yeah.” Abandoning the earring, Monroe’s attention falls back to her hair, smoothing through it in long, slow strokes. “Listen,” her voice takes on a foppish cadence, “‘Sixteenth of Eve’s Tide. I awoke promptly at dawn, only to find my bedclothes on the ground. I summoned my servants, lazy and indolent though they may be, to fix the bed to match my exacting standards.’”

Adelaide groans. “Oh gods, no.” 

Monroe just laughs, hand stilling in Adelaide’s hair, cupping the base of her skull as she continues, “‘Really, I should fire the lot and hire better help. The fools could not achieve the proper drape; in fact, they could not tell the left side was a finger-width longer than the right, and I was forced to get my ruler to show to them their error.’”

“Stop this,” Adelaide begs, twisting to look up at Monroe, scrunching her face to look as pathetic as she can, tossing in a pout for good measure. Unaffected, Monroe shakes her head, eyes crinkled at the corners.

“‘Do they not know the value of my bed linens? Only an idiot could fail to notice their lustrous sheen, but even a fool could feel their silken weight as they handled them. The thread count alone-’”

“Please,” Adelaide pushes herself up to sit on her knees, dislodging Monroe’s hand. In a desperate bid to get the reading to end, Adelaide covers the page and forces the book down. “I  _ cannot _ take it. The pompous tedium is too much.” Eyebrows raised, Monroe just smiles back, decidedly smug and mischievous. Beneath her hand, the book gives a small twitch. Adelaide narrows her eyes and levels a warning finger at her. “I  _ will _ do something drastic.”

“Really,” the reply is flat and drawn out, teasingly monotone.  _ Yeah, right, _ it says,  _ sure your will. _ They eye each other for a few more moments, a stalemate of sorts, before Monroe jerks the book away and clears her throat, “‘The thread count-’”

With a playfully frustrated huff, Adelaide grabs either side of Monroe’s face and hauls her in, crushing their lips together. A tiny squeak comes from Monroe, all startled surprise, like she hadn’t truly expected Adelaide to rise to the challenge. It softens to a contented sigh when Adelaide tongues the seam of her lips, gentling the bruising press to something sweet and tender. The book drops to the floor in favor of winding a hand through Adelaide’s hair, her other arm draping over Adelaide’s shoulders. Triumphant, Adelaide slides her tongue into Monroe’s mouth, licks the backs of her teeth, sucks on her bottom lip as she pulls away, releasing it with a quiet  _ pop. _

Leaning back, Adelaide watches Monroe blink at her dazedly, face squished into an adorable approximation of a gaping fish by her hands. Adelaide can feel the tragically fond smile curling her lips. She sweeps her thumbs over Monroe’s cheekbones, one flushed and heavily freckled, the other twisted by shiny burn scars. Clarity slowly returns to Monroe’s eyes and Adelaide smirks at the narrow-eyed glare she sends her way.

“Cheater.” It’s an accusation that lacks any real heat, made a little slurred by Adelaide’s grip.

“I warned you,” Adelaide says, releasing Monroe’s face, nudging the hinge of her jaw with a knuckle as her hands fall.

“A kiss is drastic?”

Adelaide pretends to consider Monroe, takes in her white hair and bright eyes bruised by lack of sleep, the scars that swirl over the curve of the apple of her cheek, the laugh lines pressed into corners of her mouth. She looks tired, a little rumpled, warm and safe and absolutely gorgeous.

“Mmm, with you? Definitely.” Monroe gasps in mock outrage and gives Adelaide’s shoulder a shove. Adelaide latches onto her wrist, sending them both sprawling back on the couch in a tangled heap of limbs and breathless laughter.

They lay there a moment, still shaking with quiet laughter, until Monroe props herself up, shifting to kneel between Adelaide's spread legs. Her knees nudge the insides of Adelaide’s thighs. A hint of a smile hitches one side of her lips as she smooths some hair out of Adelaide's face, tucking it behind her ear, following the curl’s full length,  knuckles skating along the line of her neck. 

“Hey there,” Monroe says, one arm braced next to Adelaide’s head, her other hand splayed above the hammering slam of Adelaide’s heart.

"Hello,” she says, reaching up to press her palm against Monroe’s scarred cheek, unable to help her smile when she leans into it. Her hand then slides around to cup the back of Monroe’s neck, a gentle exhortation. “Come here."

Monroe goes.

Their lips meet in a light brush, simply sharing each other’s space and breathing the same air. They kiss like that for a few moments before Adelaide breaks the peace, grasping Monroe's hair and giving it a light tug. Monroe lets out a low groan from the back of her throat, fingers tightening where they'd been playing with the frilled collar of Adelaide's blouse. She deepens the kiss, licks her way into Adelaide's mouth to press their tongues together. Everything else fades away until all Adelaide can focus on is the slick heat of Monroe’s mouth and trying to coax more of those humming little sighs from her.

Adelaide's hands wander, smoothing up and down Monroe's flanks just to make her shiver before finding their way down to the curve of her ass. It doesn't take much effort to haul Monroe just that much closer so they're pressed hip to hip, chest to chest. She gives Monroe's ass a few slow, languid, kneading squeezes, thumbs working their way under the hem of her raggedy shirt to draw arcing paths along either side of her spine.

They break apart, both panting for breath, Monroe’s lips kiss-bitten and shining with spit. She huffs a little laugh and finally lays down, full weight settling atop Adelaide, burying her face into the crook of Adelaide’s neck, cold nose pressing just below an ear. Adelaide flattens her palms at the small of Monroe’s back, letting her fingertips press into the delicate, tender skin there. She tilts her head, catches sight of the damned journal, facedown on the floor.

“You’re breaking your book’s spine.”

Monroe’s reply is muffled, “Fuck the book.” She shimmies a little lower, shifting so her temple is pressed to Adelaide’s shoulder, cheek pillowed on the swell of her breast. “Got it cause I thought it might look nice on your shelves.”

“Is that so?”

Monroe hums. Adelaide presses a kiss to the crown of her head, closing her eyes to imagine a midnight blue book with silver etchings sitting on her shelf, a memento from Monroe’s time away, wandering the wilds. 

A reminder that despite having the world at her beck and call, she always returns to Adelaide, that she always comes back home.


End file.
